Nightwalker
by Skyskater
Summary: It's always darkest before the dawn. That's when The Nightwalker comes out to play.


**A nice fiction. No deaths, no nothing. Just descriptions.**

**Done in science and geometry class...when is it not?! Lol**

**This person I am writing about is an Arrancar. Can you guess which one? I would think it would be pretty obvious**

**All right answers get a free lolly! **

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Light steps, black quiet, clinging shadows. There is nobody else on the lonely road, nobody but him. And if somebody is going to come along, he wouldn't really care. The shadows will hide him. Because all shadows belong to him. 

He doesn't really know where he's going and he can't really care. He's been like this for such a long time, and old habits are hard to break.

Long, cool grass swishes along his long coat as he walks. His green eyes pierce the darkness, yet melt into it so nobody but him will know that he is there. A sword, in its sheath, knocks lightly against his leg. His hand reaches to stroke it. It's his only friend, he doesn't want to ruin their bond. He knows that swords are not just tools for fighting, but they are also friends, comrades that help you in battle. A protector, so you won't get hurt. An offense, to win.

The grassy meadow leads into a dark forest. He doesn't care. The shadows obey his will, they will move with his orders. He can't make it light, though. Never. He doesn't control the light. Just the shadows. Although it does help his vision to remove the shadows from dark corners so that he can see whatever meager life is living there. He rarely does this, though; he knows what it is like to suddenly have a light shone upon you. He'll respect any living objects that make their home in those dark corners where light rarely shines.

Darkness envelopes him as he strides further into the forest. Strange noises rise out of the gloom to meet him. He dismisses these sounds; he has heard many stranger noises than the hooting of an owl or the distant howl of a wolf. These noises are natural to him; he has learned not to mind them anymore.

Tiny eyes peep out at him from nooks, crannies in the wood of trees, he ignores them. They follow him, then look away. This intruder in their woods is normal, he passes through daily. Nightly, rather. He is nowhere to be seen in the day.

Leaves rustle, twigs snap under his feet. This does nothing to disturb the silence of the woods. He passes a clearing; sees a lone wolf huddled on the ground. It perks its head up, brown eyes look at him. He bends down, holding out his hand, trying to show this lonely animal that he will be its friend. He remembers a time when he, too, was lost in the cruel world and nobody was his friend except himself. As his hand extends toward the animal, he notes the sharp teeth, the eyes that have known fear, anger, bloodlust. And yet, he is not afraid.

The wolf smells his outstretched hand, and licks it cautiously. A quiet smile passes across his usually serious and solemn face. He understands this wolf. He sits down on the ground. He can spare a few hours. The dawn is still very far away yet.

Cool grass, soft breaths, pants from the wolf. He lies down on his back. The wolf lies beside him, on its back, too. It's a boy.

Bright stars above, cool ground below. The earth is sleeping, the sky is having a party. The wolf is silent apart from its soft breaths. He appreciates this. He doesn't feel like making noise right now. It would disturb the sky's parties. He thinks of his comrade. He's working up there right now, flying over cities, towns, and everything else, looking down on the world. He wonders how it is up there. He probably wouldn't like it, he thinks.

Closed eyes, even breathing. He'll rest for a little bit. He is not tired, not sleepy; he just wants to close his eyes and relax. The day is stressing enough; even though he sleeps he can still feel the tiny pinpricks of pain that means that countless numbers of careless people have stepped on his dolls; the dolls that he has made with such precision to follow them. People don't care about his dolls; they don't care. He has made them so strong that they will last for a life time. Every day he makes many new dolls, taking pieces out of the darkness, and fits them to new people. His cloth is darkness, his needle rays of light. Darkness won't hold darkness together; he needs the light to create parts of the doll like hands, feet, and anyplace the light could pass through. His dolls hate sunshine, as he does himself. Like they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

The wolf nudges him with its cold nose. His eyes open. The sky is a little less dark than it was before; he's wasted time. He stands up; the wolf does, too. Walks a few steps; it follows suit. He smiles again, and scratches the wolf's head gently. He will have a pet. He doesn't know what he will name it. Later, he decides. Later he shall have a name. For now, he'll have to go without.

Walking faster, now. Out of the forest, now on the edge of a city. City lights shine, neon for store, warm yellow for houses. He snorts. These people, they don't know anything. Nothing at all.

Grey sky, quiet sighs. The night is nearly over.

Green eyes flash, soft padded feet on the ground. His pace quickens, the wolf's does too. Door opens. The town is waking up. A head out a door, eyes look at him. They can't see him. He can see his dolls come out to greet him.

Quiet paces. Shadows dance. The Nightwalker disappears, sun flashing through the place where he once was. Now it is his dolls' turn to walk and live.

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**I will write a story about The Nightwalker's friend. So don't worry.**

**1. In case you haven't figured it out, The Nightwalker's dolls are people's shadows.**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


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